


An UnBEARable Slight

by CrowleyLovesUSUK



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bears, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Boys' Love, Camping, Costumes, Dorks, Drinking, Insults, M/M, Public Sex, Revenge, Seme England, Swearing, Urban Legends, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2719280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowleyLovesUSUK/pseuds/CrowleyLovesUSUK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America and Canada are going camping. Prussia and England are staying home. When France shows up, he convinces Prussia and England to play a little joke on their unsuspecting boyfriends. Will insults, bruised egos, booze, a slightly perverted Frenchman and two adorable bear costumes result in some steamy campfire sex? Probably. </p><p>USUK/UKUS PruCan. Some steamy Yaoi and language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Did You Call Me?

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Both nation and human names used. Humor/Romance. Apologies for any OOC-ness. (America is also a bit of a total moron in this—apologies—I do love you Alfred, you’re just too fun to mess with.)  
> Characters: England/Arthur/Iggy/Angleterre  
> Prussia/Gilbert/Gil/Prusse  
> America/Alfred/Al/Amérique  
> Canada/Matthew/Mattie/Birdie  
> France/Francis/Frog  
> Relationships: Established USUK/UKUS (main couple focus), Established PruCan, mention of GerIta.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia (obviously, since my precious little OTPs haven’t tied the knot yet). I also do not own Star Wars, James Bond, or Shark Week.  
> Rated Explicit: Because there is some light Yaoi (boys love/boyXboy) but in later chapters it will be LOTS of Yaoi (not kidding...the last chapter will be pure smutty smut). Also some drinking and language because—well, England, Prussia and France (need I say more?) Even America drops a few swear words.  
> I like puns…so sue me. Reviews are appreciated! Reviews are love!

     Arthur and Gilbert sat on the couch watching the pile of camping equipment grow before their eyes. It was an impressive collection; both nations had to admit at least that much. To be honest, neither of them were quite sure exactly where their respective boyfriends managed to store so many tents, hiking boots and kerosene lanterns. How many sleeping bags did one nation need anyway?

     “Why do you have eight different sleeping bags a piece?” England voiced the question going through both his and Prussia’s minds.

     “Because they’re all awesome!” America pumped his fist in the air and grinned. “Look,” he grabbed one out of the mounting pile, “this one looks like a Wampa!” Alfred shook his Star Wars themed sleeping bag at Arthur’s face, not noticing that the blonde Brit was scowling even deeper than before. He dealt with Alfred’s Star Wars obsession on a daily basis after all. He also knew that this particular sleeping bag stayed in America’s room so he could curl up inside every time he watched Empire—No way would the energetic nation bring his ‘snuggle bag’ on a camping trip.

     “What’s a Wampa?” Prussia cocked his head to the side and looked at the American quizzically.

     “No,” England rolled his eyes interrupting, “You don’t want to know. We _neither_ of us want to know. Please for the love of God, do not explain Alfred.” America let out a small sigh and placed his precious Wampa sleeping bag back on the floor.

     All three nations jumped as a throat cleared behind them, turning to see the source of the noise. “Good heavens Matthew, how long have you been there?” Arthur questioned.

     “Yeah dude,” America chimed in. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that.”

     “I’ve been here the whole time Alfred,” Canada sighed. “You just forgot…like usual.”

     “Nah, I could never forget my little bro,” America insisted.

     “But you did,” Gilbert pointed out. “You even asked me ten minutes ago where Mattie had gone and he was standing right next to you handing you a tent.”

     “Oh yeah,” America scratched his head and looked at his brother. “Sorry bro, won’t happen again.”

     “Sure,” Canada mumbled. He then turned to England and stated, “To answer your question Arthur—I can’t speak for Al—but I have different bags for different climates and activities. Like that one,” he pointed toward a light blue bag, “is for temperatures below freezing. And that one,” he picked out a bright red sleeping bag, “is super light so I can take it hiking or canoeing without adding too much weight.”

     “Oh,” England raised his large eyebrows and looked appraisingly at Canada. “That is actually quite sensible.”

     “Birdie is great with the outdoors!” Prussia crowed with pride.

     “Mine are useful too!” America broke back into the conversation and sent a small glare at his brother as he picked through his various sleeping bags, most of them adorned with super heroes.

     “Yes, yes, Alfred, I’m sure they are,” England sighed. “So when exactly are you chaps going to come home?”

     “Just a quick three day trip I think,” Canada responded. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

     “Yeah Iggy,” America brightened. “Please come with us! It’ll be so fun—you’ll love it!”

     “No,” England snapped.

     “Nein,” Prussia agreed. “I’ve spent too much time sleeping on the ground and in the cold during my life.”

     “Exactly,” Arthur nodded toward his friend. “I think both Gilbert and I would prefer to stay here—where there are pubs and heat and comfortable beds.”

     “And beer,” Prussia smiled.

     “I believe I covered that with the ‘pubs,’ you twit,” England elbowed the white haired nation next to him, but they both laughed good-naturedly.

     Prussia stood and slung his arm around Canada’s broad shoulders, “Don’t you worry about us Birdie. Arthur and I have a whole weekend to do whatever we want. It will be awesome!”

     America laughed, “Yeah Mattie, don’t worry about ‘em. They’re just too old to keep up with us!”

     Both Prussia and England looked a bit surprised at America’s little jab, but neither country did anything beyond a quick side glance at each other. The look went un-noticed by both of the younger nations as Alfred continued laughing, and surprisingly Matthew joined in.

     “Must be hard,” America kept going. “Seeing the world pass you by cause you’re too busy gardening and knitting and playing instruments and doing other weird old people things.”

     “There’s nothing wrong with playing instruments,” Prussia shot a glare at the tall American.

     “And there is most certainly nothing wrong with gardening,” England insisted. “You know you enjoy sitting in the garden.”

     “That’s not _all_ I enjoy doing in the garden,” America winked saucily at his lover whose eyebrows shot up so high they practically disappeared—which was quite a feat in itself.

     “Don’t feel bad Iggy,” Alfred kept grinning, not picking up on the slow simmer of tension in the room. “It’s not your fault you guys can’t keep up with us—what did you call me last week—‘whippersnappers.” Canada and America both burst out laughing as England sputtered and insisted “I said no such thing!”

     “Yeah I guess you’re right Al,” Canada chuckled quietly. “Those ‘comfortable beds’ you mentioned Arthur—doesn’t have anything to do with an aging back, does it?”

     America guffawed and grabbed England from behind, wrapping his large arms around his boyfriend’s narrow shoulders. He placed a quick kiss on England’s neck and smiled at his brother saying, “Probably. Iggy’s all obsessed with his ‘perfect mattress’ and his neck massager.”

     Despite his mounting irritation, Gilbert couldn’t resist that opening and Arthur’s face went bright red as Gilbert snorted and said, “I doubt it’s a neck massager.”  This caused all three nations to burst into laughter as England pushed America away roughly, his eyebrows knit together as he shouted, “You insufferable brat!”

     “Ah, Iggy, you know I’m just teasing you,” America captured his Brit once more and nuzzled into his neck. England didn’t push his lover away, but he stood stock still with his arms at his sides in order to deny any satisfaction toward America’s attempts at forgiveness. The longer Alfred held on, running kisses up his neck, the more Arthur’s resolve shrank and he ended up mumbling under his breath; “It’s fine you blasted git. Just stop—stop! Damnit Alfred.” America spun him around and England let himself get lost in their kiss.

     The British nation despised public displays, however, they were in a private residence, so it wasn’t exactly ‘public.’ Canada and Prussia had to be used to Alfred’s wandering hands by now considering that the two of them had been together for decades. Canada had actually walked in on them a few years ago—not that either America or England remembered it happening. Canada did though. He remembered.

     Arthur felt Alfred’s hands in his hair pulling him closer to the larger man’s chest. England couldn’t help himself and let out a small moan, and gripped America’s shoulders tightly. He _loved_ kissing America. No matter what idiotic, or hurtful thing that came out of the boy’s mouth England could never resist him for long. He could feel Alfred pushing him back toward the wall which he hit much quicker than he planned. America lifted his arms holding them against the wall behind Arthur, effectively pinning England into position, never once breaking the contact of their lips.

     In the back of his mind, Arthur thought about stopping. But that was ridiculous. America was leaving for three whole days. He should at least get a goodbye kiss.

     “Um, Al?” Canada attempted to break up the incredibly steamy encounter going on in his living room. It brought back memories he didn’t need. No one needed to see their brother getting a blowjob.  Canada shuddered and tried again. “Please,” he requested. “We should really be going soon.”

     Shooting a look at his own boyfriend who was watching in amusement, Canada smacked Prussia across his ass with the gloves he was holding. Prussia immediately turned toward Canada with a lascivious grin on his face, but was shut down by Matthew with a mere look. Pointing at the kissing nations across the room Matthew looked at his lover and hissed, “Please stop them before it gets weirder.”

     “America!” Prussia shouted, jolting the two entwined nations out of their momentary interlude.

     “Oh god,” England muttered, his face going a deep pink. America was completely unfazed and just grinned at the other two before winking, “The hero needed a goodbye kiss.” He grabbed Arthur’s lips for one more kiss and pulled away from the wall, grabbing the bag that Matthew had finished packing for him. “Ready bro? We’re losing daylight,” America laughed as though he hadn’t been the hold up.

     “Watch out for bears,” Prussia sarcastically warned, still a little hurt by the American’s earlier jabs.

     Giving a snarky little salute to Gilbert and blowing a kiss to the still red and sputtering Arthur, Alfred was out the door.

     Canada shook his head chuckling. His brother was insane. He loved him, but America was insane. “You shouldn’t tease him about bears Gil,” Canada smiled, “I’m the one who is going to have to deal with him freaking out at every single noise during the night.” Gilbert simply grinned, letting the Canadian know that his description was the exact scenario that the Prussian was hoping for. Smiling and reaching over, Matthew pulled Gilbert into a tight squeeze and gave him a soft kiss on the lips before following his older brother out the door.

     “Well,” England huffed as soon as the door was closed. “Look at this mess they’ve left behind!”

     Prussia grinned at him, “Yeah, it used to piss me off, but I think I’m getting more chill in my ‘old age’ as those two jerks would say. West always wanted everything super clean and I guess it rubbed off on me. But,” Prussia shrugged, “If I freaked out every time Birdie tracked mud or snow or leaves into the house I’d lose my verdammt mind. Kid’s a disaster. Don’t even get me started on that weird bear of his—did you know he trained it to use a litter box? Creepy.”

     Immediately England’s head swiveled a bit, he had forgotten about Canada’s miniature polar bear. “Yes well,” the island nation stuttered a bit, “We should probably get this cleaned up for them.” 

     “Leave it,” Prussia waved his hand dismissively. He squinted a bit at England who was now peering intently out the window as though he was weighing something in his mind. Setting his jaw, Prussia decided to go for it. “England?” he questioned.

     “Yes? What?” England looked at him a bit caught off guard.

     Prussia decided that it would be best to just dive right in, no beating around the bush. “Were you as pissed as I was about the whole ‘old men’ thing?”

     England’s eyes narrowed, “Yes.”

     “I mean, I know they’re joking,” Prussia began. “But sometimes…” the former nation trailed off.

     “Sometimes it still hurts,” England finished. “Yes, I know. Alfred is always bringing up my age. Mostly just in fun. Sometimes I take the bait and we end up in a screaming match, which is always _pleasantly_ resolved.” England and Prussia both grinned at what the Brit was insinuating. “Other times I ignore him and remember that it just means I have done a _whole_ lot more than that little brat.” Arthur smiled a little. Each nation was well aware that England was using the word ‘brat’ as a term of endearment.

     “Yeah, I guess,” Prussia murmured.

     England knew that if he didn’t distract the albino soon that he would have a depressed nation on his hands who would spend the rest of the night moaning about how he didn’t have a capitol any longer. Drunk Prussia was always fun; Excited Prussia could be dangerous; and Mischievous Prussia usually ended up with bench warrants—But Depressed Prussia was not something that England (or any other nation for that matter) enjoyed or wanted to see.

     “Well,” he attempted, “What would you like to do now—we have three days with no ‘babysitting.’” Awkward as usual, England’s attempt at humor fell a bit flat.  Prussia just stared at him for a beat before pulling his phone out and holding the screen out toward Arthur.

     “Guess what?” Prussia asked. He didn’t even wait for a response from the blonde before continuing. “Francis just texted. He’s in town and wants to hang out.”

     “Bloody hell,” England groaned. “I’d rather watch Alfred toss my tea into the ocean again than see that stupid Frog.”

     “Seriously?” Prussia actually looked surprised.

     “No, not really,” England grumbled, looking at the ground. “That was very expensive and delicious tea and he should _not_ have done such a thing! It was really very—“

     Cutting off his friend, Gilbert held up both of his palms. “Okay, let’s change the subject,” he gave a half-hearted laugh. Prussia was well aware of how England was—the two were friends after all. If England knew the former nation had a soft spot about his land being dissolved, then Prussia knew how England felt about his former empire.

     He knew that once the ball was rolling on the Revolutionary War—or as Arthur referred to it after six shots of rum as, “That Stupid Ungrateful Wanker’s Hurtful and Inappropriate Break-Up With Me!”—there would be no talk of anything else for the rest of the night. And most likely, England would cry. Prussia didn’t like crying. Crying was not awesome and a real downer.

     “Anyway,” Prussia motioned for England to follow him as he wandered into the kitchen. “He’s at this great little place down the street that Birdie and I like so maybe we could meet up with him.” Prussia filled a glass with something from a decanter on the counter as Arthur braced his shoulder against the doorway to the kitchen. “We _do_ need dinner,” Gilbert continued. “You know, neither of us are the best cooks; and I’m a bit out of practice since Italy moved in with my brother.”

     The change of venue worked enough that England blinked and accepted the glass that Prussia handed him without question, ignoring the mention of his prowess in the kitchen. “Doesn’t it get a bit rote eating pasta all the time though?” he questioned, raising the glass to his lips.

     “Hell no! That crazy little guy is amazing with food!” Prussia exclaimed. “I mean, for a moment I thought it might since no meal is really complete without some sausage,” the white haired man winked. “But no. Everything he makes is delicious.”

     It may have been the Prussian’s comment, or his saucy wink, but England was pretty sure the culprit was the drink unexpectedly burning his throat, when he coughed and sputtered out the amber liquid.

     “What the bloody hell was that?!” Arthur exclaimed.

     “Bourbon,” Prussia stated simply. “Birdie keeps it around for Alfred, I thought it might loosen you up a bit.”

     “Wha—What!” England’s bright green eyes opened wide in shock.

     Gilbert’s laugh echoed off the walls of the kitchen. “You should see your face!” he crowed. “I just figured it would help…since France should be here—“ he paused as the doorbell chimed—“Now!”

     Arthur groaned and rolled his eyes as Gilbert ran to the front door and let the blonde Frenchman into the house. _‘Well, nothing to lose,’_ Arthur sighed and downed the entire glass. He hated bourbon—it was common and tasted of burning—but he despised being sober around Francis. When he was three sheets to the wind, the froggy wine bastard was slightly more tolerable.

     Oozing into the room, France smiled prettily at England and did a little finger wave saying, “Oh, Angleterre, it is so wonderful to see you—it has been too long.”

     England rolled his eyes again and went to refill his empty glass. “Really Francis?” he growled. “We saw each other yesterday.”

     “Oh, oui,” Francis winked at both England and Prussia. “I forgot about our little meeting.”

     “It was a World Conference. All the nations were there!” England snapped. “I don’t like you insinuating that it was a private meeting between the two of us!”

     “Oui, I do not care for that insinuation either mon ami,” France nodded, seeming, for a moment, to be serious. But only for a moment. “I would prefer it to be a fact.” He let out a small giggle as England clenched his hand into a tight fist.

     “Ah, don’t piss him off too quickly France,” Prussia clapped his old friend on the back. “He’s already mad that you’re here and Al will have my balls if Arthur isn’t in one piece when he and Birdie get home.”

     France waved his hand airily and smiled, “No worries my friend. Angleterre adores me.”

     England’s response was to growl angrily and down another full glass of bourbon. He actually was feeling quite good at the moment despite France…breathing.

     “Now,” France turned to Prussia, “I know I suggested meeting at that charming little bistro earlier but I have a better idea. I will cook for both of you here!”

     Gilbert’s eyes lit up. He loved having people cook for him and if it couldn’t be his wonderful Birdie and his delectable pancakes or his brother’s ‘little Italy,’ then France was an excellent backup. “Ja!” he exclaimed. “That sounds wunderbar! What do you think England?” Both nations turned toward the Brit who looked a bit bleary and just smiled and made an odd little dip of his head. France and Prussia recognized the signs.

     England was well on his way to being incredibly drunk.


	2. Squirrels and S'mores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America and Canada set up camp and America makes a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do love Alfred, he is so adorable...but I made him silly and ridiculous...I promise, I do love him.

     In a rare moment for America, he let his brother take the lead as they trekked through the forest. Alfred _loved_ camping and being in the outdoors, but they _were_ in Canada and he was well aware that his brother was the expert in his own country. Plus, he knew that Mattie would find them the best campsite in the history of ever!

     Stopping near a nice bend in the river he had been following, Canada pulled his pack off and set it on the ground. “This looks good, eh?” Matthew turned and looked at his older brother who was kneeling in the dirt just off the trail. “Um, Al,” the Canadian spoke up, “What are you doing?”

     “Just hanging out with this awesome squirrel,” America grinned. “Check it—I think he’s hungry.”

     “Well don’t feed it,” Canada wandered over to where his brother was crouched. “It’s not safe and it makes them rely on human food and that can lead to—“ Canada cut himself off with a yelp as he peered over America’s shoulder to see what creature had captured his brother’s attention.

     It was a skunk.

     “Al,” Canada said softly, “back away from the skunk.”

     “What?” American squinted at Canada. “It’s a squirrel.”

     “It’s not a squirrel,” Canada was now about ten feet away and still moving.

     “Yeah,” America nodded confidently. “I’m pretty sure it’s a squirrel.”

     “Have you ever _seen_ a squirrel?” Canada asked.  

     “Yeah, they’re everywhere, aren’t they?” America was now patting the skunk as though it were a puppy. “Besides, one time, Italy found a squirrel and he told me they have big bushy tails. This little dude has a big bushy tail. Squirrel.”

     Canada almost expected his brother to pantomime a mic drop after that last word…and he was not disappointed. “Yes, well, Alfred,” Canada spoke slowly. “ _That_ is not a squirrel. It is a _skunk_. The fuzzy forest creatures that spray you with a foul smelling…” he trailed off as America jumped back and joined him standing now about twenty feet from the waddling black and white animal.

     “Dude!” America looked at him accusingly. “Why didn’t you say it was a skunk? Those things are freaky!”

     Canada simply shook his head. There was no correcting America. He was _always_ right. “Jeez Al,” he asked, “How big are the squirrels in America?”

     “I don’t know, forty pounds or something,” Alfred was already moving on to the next order of business. “Hey, you’re right Mattie, this place looks great! We even have a little pool!” America skipped up toward the river which had formed a small natural reservoir about the size of a hot tub, next to the shore. It was surrounded by smooth stones and what looked like organic clay.

     Canada smiled at his brother’s reaction. This was his favorite place to camp. He came up to this area of the river quite often and even got Gil to come out with him a few times. Canada knew that America would love the little pool. He was really proud to show his brother how amazing Canada could be. Perhaps if America had a good time this weekend he might stop making fun of Canada so much. It wasn’t Matthew’s fault that he had amazing scenery, free healthcare, legalized gay marriage, excellent hockey players and (let’s be honest) a lot of Hollywood talent…he understood that sometimes Alfred may feel a bit jealous of how amazing Canada was—but that didn’t mean he had to make fun of everything Matthew did.

     “We can set up camp and then make dinner,” Matthew suggested, pleased that his brother looked so happy.

     “Yeah,” America nodded eagerly. “That sounds great! I’m hungry!”

     “Tents first,” Canada insisted.

     He may be the younger brother, but just about everyone would agree that he was also the more responsible one. Not much unlike Prussia and Germany. Canada smiled a bit thinking about his boyfriend. He was well aware of the fact that he got on so well with Prussia because Prussia and America were very similar. That was probably why Gilbert and Arthur were such good friends as well. Arthur and Matthew were used to boisterous, energetic, slightly egotistical, and occasionally obnoxious nations. Made perfect sense if you took into account the whole ‘opposites attract’ thing.

     Although, Canada wasn’t entirely convinced that America and England were all that different. He had heard France talk about the things that England used to get up to back when the sun never set on his empire. Alfred was like that as well. Arthur may have settled down a bit as his colonies left, but there was still the occasional twinkle in his eyes that let Canada know, the British Empire was far from docile. England and his brother were probably more alike than anyone suspected.

     It didn’t take very long for Canada to set up his tent on some relatively flat ground and unpack his few belongings. Noticing that the makeshift fire pit he had created a few months ago had started to topple, he began to restack the stones, watching as America struggled with his tent.

     “Need any help there Al?” Canada asked politely.

     “Nope, I’m great,” the American insisted. It took him a few more moments but he managed to get his tent pegged into the ground and stood back to look at it proudly. Canada had a very nice all-weather two person tent in a neutral olive green. America’s tent was easily an eight person, vaulted roof tent that Alfred had clearly lost the rain cover for and was done up in a print of the American flag. Canada was not surprised in the least. He grinned a little as his brother admired his handiwork.

     “Been a long time since I had to put up a tent,” America stated as he plopped down next to his brother on the dirt. “Good thing I was an Eagle Scout and know everything about the forest,” he grinned.

     “Everything except what a skunk looks like,” Canada stated. He knew that America wouldn’t hear him, so he didn’t even bother to whisper.

     “What are we eating?” America questioned.

    “I have some canned stuff we can heat over the fire and hot dogs,” Canada reached behind him and tossed a small bag at America.

    Alfred dug greedily into the sack and pulled out the food Canada had provided. “Awesome dude,” he nodded his approval. “Oscar Mayer—only the best is made in the US of A, right?” Alfred grinned at his brother. “I brought s’mores.”

    “That’s it?” Canada looked a bit disappointed. “That’s the only food you brought. Just s’mores?”

    America laughed and ran his hand through his blonde hair. “No way dude,” he grinned. “I ‘borrowed’ Iggy’s flask. I dumped out his crappy rum and added something amazing—I’ve got bourbon too!”

    “Oh,” Matthew attempted a smile, which was actually a grimace. “That’s…that’s really great.”

    There was a very good chance that this would be a long three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for America being a bit spazzy about camping and the outdoors and all that--I just felt for the purpose of this story, he is a little out of his element in Canada and you KNOW he's been sampling his smuggled bourbon the whole way. He knows what skunks are and what not, he's just buzzed and self-centered and goofy...he's just so easy to make silly. I do love you though Alfie!


	3. You Know Bears Have Claws, Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France wants to help and America learns about Bears

     Normally, France loved to intentionally say things that would rile up England. It was what ninety percent of their friendship was based on. However, today, he was holding back; not much, mind you, but some. He could tell that both of his friends were having a rough patch.

     They were acting the same—Prussia declaring his awesomeness and England being rude towards the Frenchman, so nothing odd there. It was just on occasion, there was a moment when one of them would seem to tune out for a second as though replaying a conversation in their own mind. As Francis put the finishing touches on his famous bouillabaisse, he decided that enough was enough and turned to confront his two friends who were making their way through the bottle of bourbon sitting on the counter.

     “All right, mes amis, that is quite enough,” Francis slung a dishtowel over his shoulder and leaned both hands on the kitchen island staring down the two nations at the table. “I cannot stand here and watch the two of you moping around any longer.”

     “We are most certainly _not_ moping!” Arthur looked affronted.

     “Please Angleterre,” France scoffed. “I am the Country of Love. I can tell when someone is _moping_ over the person they are in love _with_.” Francis flicked his perfect blonde hair over one shoulder. “Do not insult me.”

       Simultaneously, Prussia and England slid their eyes across the table and had a split-second silent decision. Both nations burst out talking at the same time leaving France somewhat stupefied.

      “That bloody twat tried to imply that we were _old!_ ” England started.

      “They said we couldn’t keep up!” Prussia added.

      “Which is absolutely bloody fucking ridiculous!” England insisted.

      “And not at all awesome!” Prussia continued. “

      AND A LIE!!” Both nations shouted together.

      France smiled. _This_ was something he could work with.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

      “And when the sun came up and it was finally morning, she got out of the car. Only to realize that her boyfriend was _dead_ and _hanging from a tree branch_ with his feet _scraping along the hood of the car!_ ” Canada leaned forward, causing the firelight to glint off of his glasses.

       "WHAT?!?! What the fucking, fucking fuck!” America screamed out, his eyes bugging out of his head.

       “Jeez Al,” the blonde Canadian grinned at his brother with a teasing expression. “You kiss Arthur with that mouth?”

       “He’s not fucking here to lecture me about my fucking language,” America insisted, his eyes darting around the shadows surrounding them. “Why would you tell me that story dude? You know how scary it is!”

       Canada chuckled a bit as he munched on the s’more he had just assembled. His brother had an over-active imagination and despite being a superpower had the tendency to be a big scaredy-cat on occasion. “It’s not really that scary Al,” Canada shook his head. “Anyway, it’s just an urban legend. It isn’t true.”

       “It is too true,” America insisted. “I heard it happened to—“

      “A friend of a friend of a cousin’s sister or some total crap like that, right?” Canada finished. “Yeah, urban legend. Not true.”

       America muttered something unintelligible under his breath and ducked his head down, shuffling his feet against the dirt. Canada sighed a bit before saying, “Al, it’s a story. It isn’t real. There is no such thing as a hook man. We are perfectly safe.”

     Alfred’s blonde head lifted up a fraction as he met his brother’s eyes. “You promise Mattie?” His voice sounded so broken and child-like that for a moment, Canada felt a twinge of guilt for scaring him.

     However, once he thought back on all the times that America had been a total jerk to him over the years he realized that he didn’t feel all that guilty after all. Still, he met his brother’s eyes and said, “I promise.” Then, despite his best efforts not to, he added a predictable, “Sorry for scaring you Al.”

      Immediately America brightened, “That’s okay bro!” He popped an entire s’more into his mouth and barely chewed before swallowing, grinning at his brother with smears of chocolate and marshmallow all over his face.

     “I’m going to go to bed I think,” Matthew stood up, brushed off his pants and turned to head toward his own tent.

       “Okay,” Alfred chirped. “I’ll just clean up and put the fire out.” Both brothers, despite their differences were huge advocates of the “if you bring it, pack it out” policy of camping and hiking. America leaned over to gather up the s’more supplies that were littering the ground around his feet and Matthew heard the crinkle of Hershey wrappers as Alfred stuffed them in the pockets of his sweatshirt.

       Turning slightly, Canada watched his brother jam all the s’mores ingredients in the sweatshirt’s pouch. Part of him wanted to be a responsible brother, and the other part still wanted to mess with the American—he could do both with one well-placed remark. Canada smirked and took a few steps back toward Alfred.

       “I hope you don’t have any food wrappers in there with you,” Canada waved his hand toward America’s tent. “You don’t want to wake up with a bear snuffling around your feet.”

       “Bears can’t get in tents,” America snorted. The wrappers in his pockets crinkling as he shuffled in his seat. “They can’t unzip the door without thumbs.”

     Canada looked at his brother with wide purple eyes. Apparently Alfred had consumed more bourbon than Canada thought. “Um, Al,” he hesitated a bit. “You know bears have claws right?”

     America just looked at him blankly. _‘Oh well,’_ Canada thought, it wasn’t often that he got such a great opportunity to tease his brother. “Claws,” Canada nodded, continuing. “They can just,” he pantomimed wildly with his hands, “rip through the tent, you know.”

     “WHAT!?” America shot up from the log he had been sitting on, his mouth hanging open and his eyes glazed.

     “Yeah,” Canada smiled slightly and made a weird growling sound before turning to disappear into his own tent. “Goodnight Alfred!” he called cheerily, picturing his brother’s stunned and worried expression as he zipped his tent closed and snuggled into his sleeping bag.

     Placing his glasses in their case and setting it next to him, Canada’s head hit the small pillow and he did not spare another thought about scary stories, bears or his brother as his eyes fluttered. Listening to the sounds of the crickets and whispers of the breeze through the forest, Canada fell asleep within moments. He always slept so peacefully in nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If you bring it in, pack it out" -- Don't leave your campsites all messed up, take your damn garbage with you. Please and thank you.
> 
> OHHHHHH Canada, you sassy little troublemaker! I bet you get that from France. And again, sorry Alfred...I'm going to torture you just a little bit more...


	4. The Devious Trio

       France and England were sitting at the kitchen table, empty glasses in front of the Brit and a half-finished glass of Merlot in front of France. At some point, Prussia had wandered off leaving the other two nations alone; one bemoaning his age and the other doing his best to escalate the situation. Oddly enough, despite England’s melancholy over the remarks against his age, his slightly drunken ranting had allowed him to forget the one simple fact that he was actually the youngest nation present at the moment.

       “That wanker should know better than to tell _me_ I can’t keep up!” England had a small slur, but he was mostly just shouting.

       “Oh, oui, mon ami,” France nodded while grinning at his friend. “Little Amérique has no right to insult you in that way.”

       “Nope,” England’s mouth curled around the word as though he was having trouble even saying it. Slang terminology wasn’t exactly his forte. “I can go longer than him _any_ day of the week! Why, just two nights ago, that little scamp came _twice_ before I even thought about it. And he calls _me_ elderly!”

       “I don’t think he was referring to your bedroom prowess in particular Angleterre,” France chuckled. He couldn’t help himself, it was always so fun to see a tipsy England ranting about his lover. _‘They are so cute,’_ France couldn’t help thinking. _‘How they are always fighting even though they have been together for over seventy years.’_

       France smiled to himself, taking another sip of wine as England continued his tirade. “He has a lot of nerve implying that I am the one who insists on a comfortable mattress! He’s the one who bought the stupid thing! I’m the United Bloody Kingdom and I can sleep _anywhere!_ ”

       “And we all know you have Angleterre,” France couldn’t resist a jab at his friend’s formerly promiscuous nature, however he made sure that his voice was low enough so England may not hear the slight.

       “I am not old.” Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and furrowed his brows, glaring across the table at Francis.

       “I’m not old either,” Prussia suddenly popped out of the pantry door wearing what looked like a polar bear costume.

       England and France paused and simply stared. Neither of them remembered Prussia going into the pantry. They also had no recollection of him adorning a big white bear costume that vaguely resembled footie pajamas. To England, it was merely an oddity. To France it was very disturbing seeing as he had only had one glass of wine and was stone cold sober.

       “The fuck?” England seemed mildly irritated, although France couldn’t figure out why.

       “What?” Prussia paused for a beat before pulling the hood of the costume up over his head to reveal an adorable bear face and little puffy ears. Striking a pose, the albino grinned and shouted, “I am _awesome_!”

       France still hadn’t made a single movement or said a word. England, however, stood up so abruptly, he knocked over the chair he had been occupying and yelled back at Prussia, “That’s not bloody fair! I can be awesome as well!” The Englishman turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. France blinked in confusion.

       He didn’t have to remain confused for very long however. Only a few moments later, England came stomping back into the room. His rough gait and his customary glare were at odds with his new attire.

       England was wearing a bear costume as well.

       His wasn’t a polar bear however, as Prussia’s, but a soft brown bear, showing the unmistakable signs of being manufactured by the same company. Arthur had pulled the costume on over his clothing and yanked the hood up over his head so haphazardly that the ears were off kilter and only one of his bright green eyes peeked out at the two nations before him.

       “I can be a bear too!” the island nation shouted indignantly.

       _‘Oh dear god, why isn’t anyone else here to witness this,’_ France thought to himself. _‘This is brilliant,’_ he pulled his phone out and snapped a quick picture of both nations squaring off at each other wearing the ridiculous get-ups.

       “I’m a better bear! Polar bears are better than stupid brown bears,” Prussia scoffed.

       “I’m a grizzly bear,” England ground out.

       “Polar bears are awesome!” Prussia shouted!

       “No they’re not! Grizzly bears are fierce and respected by the salmon population!” England argued.

       France cocked his head curiously, wondering where _this_ train of thought would go. Unfortunately, not very far, as Prussia simply stepped back and frowned.

       “Why in the hell do you have a bear costume anyway,” Prussia asked his friend, crossing his arms defensively.

       “Why do you both have bear costumes?” France inquired. _‘There had to be a story.’_

       England’s only visible eye rolled so hard, it looked as though he may pass out. “They’re obviously not ours you bloody wanker!” he spat at France. “These are Alfred’s pyjamas.”

       France and Prussia stared, dumbfounded at England’s confession. “Amérique wears that little outfit to bed,” France raised his perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “With you?” he tacked on, unable to resist. Prussia snickered, the bear ears of his hood wiggling.

       “He likes it!” England screeched.

       “Oh, I am sure,” France purred. “And I’ll bet you do as well, Angleterre.” France grinned thinking about a certain picture he had in his possession of England sleeping while clutching a large brown teddy. “I know that I would very much enjoy seeing Amérique in this little ensemble. He must look très mignon!”

       Prussia jumped in front of France before England’s fist could connect with his face, causing Prussia to take a decent hit to the shoulder. “Calm the fuck down,” Gilbert shouted. “Knock it off Francis. No one is going to look at America in his creepy bear costume.”

       “What about you,” England snorted. “What’s with the polar bear get up?”

       Gilbert lowered his chin and his red eyes narrowed. “It’s Birdie’s. And _no one_ is going to look at him wearing it either!” He directed the last at Francis, who merely shrugged innocently while muttering “I wouldn’t _dream_ of it.”

       “See,” England pointed his finger at France, the tip of it coming about an inch from the Frenchman’s nose. “I _told_ you that they weren’t our costumes!”

       “It’s still a little weird, mon ami,” France batted England’s hand away.

       “Why didn’t Alfred bring his bear pajamas with him?” Prussia asked.

       “I don’t know,” England shrugged. “Most likely too chilly for camping. Plus,” Arthur let out a snort, “He said he didn’t want to be mistaken for a ‘forest creature’ by a real bear and eaten!” England and Prussia were silent for a beat before dissolving into fits of laughter. Oddly enough, France remained silent while he fingered his beard.

       After a moment, England noticed France’s lack of amusement and smacked his friend on the arm saying, “Oi! Why are you acting like a Bond villain over there?” Francis shook his head as though clearing cobwebs and immediately stopped stroking his chin.

       “Mes amis,” France’s eyes sparkled, “You are quite upset at your lovers inferring that you’re old and infirm, oui?”  Both Prussia and England glared daggers at the French nation which was quite ineffective due to their current attire.

       “What the bloody hell does that have to do with anything!” Arthur spat out. Francis held his hands up in a gesture of surrender which caused England to grunt and mutter, “Big surprise there,” before allowing France to continue.

       “I have the perfect idea on how to, shall we say—exact your revenge?” France smiled innocently at the two bear-clad nations before him.

       He watched while the two exchanged a silent communication of nods before Prussia smirked and asked, “Whatever did you have in mind?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

       The rented sports car sped along the darkened road at an alarming speed. Of course France had picked the flashiest rental he could find. England was actually surprised that this one had four seats, since the Frenchman’s usual selection was something designed for speed and a two seat vehicle. _‘Better to get close to each other,’_ Francis would always laugh. Granted, the backseat of this speedy little model was practically for show and neither England nor France was quite sure how Prussia had managed to jam his long body back there. Somehow or another, Gilbert had bent himself up enough for the front seats to click back and the three nations were now driving through Canada’s back roads as the darkness of the night deepened considerably.

       “Are you sure you know where they went?” France inquired.

       “Ja,” Prussia tried to scratch his white hair, but he had no room to move his arms, and gave up. “Birdie always goes to the same place by a little river.”

       “Well I guess predictability counts for something,” England spoke up, staring out the window at the dark trees flying past.

       “You would know Angleterre,” France piped up, grinning at the small blonde in the passenger seat. “You’re the most predictable person I have ever met.”

       “I am not!” England’s voice began to raise as he attempted to defend himself. “I’ll have you know, you bloody frog, that I do— _wild_ —things all the time!”

       “Mon ami,” France purred. He _loved_ to irritate his oldest friend. “You do realize that you cannot count Amérique as ‘a _wild thing_ that you _do._ ’” The Frenchman winked toward England who began to sputter in anger. “Although, I have no doubt that the boy is, indeed, _wild_ ,” France continued.

       “You shut your froggy mouth about Alfred!” England’s voice cracked.

       From the incredibly small backseat, Prussia grumbled, “The buzz is wearing off. And this is becoming un-awesome.”

       “I know,” England agreed. “This is probably a terrible idea,” the island nation grumbled. “We should go back.” Arthur opened the hardback bag on his lap and began to paw through the contents.

       “Non,” France glanced in the rearview mirror. “Trust me, Angleterre and Prusse, this will be très magnifique! Besides, you cannot allow those little upstarts to get away with calling you _old_ can you?” Both nations grumbled in agreement, their resolve renewed.

       “Where the bloody fuck is my flask?” England muttered digging through his small suitcase with increasing irritation. “I know I packed the blasted thing—it was full of genuine sixteenth century rum.”

       “That’s impressive,” Prussia spoke up from the backseat.

       “Yes, I know. I found it on an island down in the Caribbean,” England boasted. “Bloody place was chock full of treasure and a whole cache of smuggled rum. Probably forgotten.” The former pirate smiled to himself, remembering, “That was a good month. Anyway, I know I packed it.” He resumed his futile search, dumping random articles on the floor in front of him.

       “Never mind that Angleterre,” France slid a glance at the small, bear clad Englishman seated next to him. “Now, do both of you remember the plan?”

       “Oui, you wanker,” England grumbled, making sure to stretch the French word out into at least four syllables in an attempt to upset Francis. He succeeded, however, there was no way that France would ever let England know that he had managed to irritate him. He simply ignored the mangling of his beloved tongue.

       “I will drop you off near the trail head, you can leave your little bags,” France repeated the plan which the three had concocted in Canada’s kitchen a few hours earlier. Both Prussia and England nodded silently, agreeing. “Then,” continued the Frenchman. “I will leave. You will both put up your adorable little bear hoods and then make your way to the boys’ tents and terrify them! Oui?”

       “Ja,” Gilbert answered.

       “Yes,” Arthur echoed. “You know, this seemed much more complicated when we were drunk.”

       “Everything is complicated for you when you’re drunk,” France sneered.

       Arthur’s green eyes narrowed and glared daggers at Francis, who ignored him.

       “Whatever—the plan is totally awesome and fool-proof!” Prussia punched his fist in the air and only succeeded in smacking it against the low ceiling, muttering a hardly audible, “Ouch.”

       “Please be delicate mon ami,” France shot toward the back. “This is a rental and I don’t have Prussian Coverage.”

       It was only a few minutes more before Prussia indicated the turn-off toward the trail head, and France’s flashy car pulled to a stop where Gilbert directed them, right next to Canada’s parked Subaru. The two nations piled out of the car, England gracefully—as befitting a gentleman; Prussia, less so.

       “This is like birthing a baby giraffe!” Prussia cried as he extracted himself in the most painful-looking way possible, and falling to a heap in the dirt.

       “Keep your damn voice down,” England hissed, holding his hand out toward Gilbert who was still rolling about on the ground.

       Once both nations were up and ready, they stashed the small bags that they had packed in preparation of their little excursion and walked back to the driver’s side of Francis’ idling vehicle. France grinned at them, knowing that there was a non-existent chance of him ever seeing Arthur in such a ridiculous get up again.

       “Mes amis,” he spoke as he lowered the window. “ _Do_ have fun. And don’t forget to wrangle an apology out of those two.” He winked and wiggled his eyebrows to give a little extra sass to his meaning. “And Angleterre, Prusse,” France lowered his voice, looking directly at his friends. “If it isn’t too much trouble, perhaps you could slip me a picture of dear Alfred and Matthieu in their little bear outfits sometime—to thank me for helping you.”

       Before either nation could respond, France waved his fingers at them, and sped off calling out, “Au Revoir!” The remaining two nations could hear his distinct laughter for a few moments before he was gone and they were left alone, in the forest, wearing bear costumes. The two men looked at one another and shrugged, pulling the hoods over their hair before Prussia laughed and said, “Come on, I know how to get there.”

       Smiling at their impending prank, Prussia and England set off into the forest, using only the moon above as a guide. It felt like they were young again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh! They're so cute in bear pyjamas! I will take one of each please! And of course France took pictures (if you have copies Francis--I have money!)  
> I also switch back and forth between pyjamas and pajamas...when its England speaking or thinking or being mentioned it is pyjamas.  
> I love England and France arguing. The Tsundere-ness makes me so very happy and France is just too much--he knows what he is doing when he picks on poor Arthur.  
> Oh America, you dumped out England's rare rum for some bourbon? What were you thinking? Better hope Iggy doesn't find out...


	5. Canadian Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Conclusion-this is the last real chapter. There is a teensy bit of sexy time but nothing too graphic. Just be forewarned.

     Shivering in his tent, America reached over and pulled another pair of sweatpants on over the two he was already wearing. He didn’t realize that it was so damn cold in Canada. _‘What the hell was Mattie thinking going camping in freezing weather,’_ America’s thoughts were turning grumpy. Grumpy thoughts made him miss Arthur—and the young nation sighed, wishing that England was there to cuddle up with so they could share body heat.

     Of course the only thing he really wanted to cover and couldn’t were his feet. In his infinite wisdom, America had forgot to pack an extra pair of socks, and seeing as the ones he had worn all day were completely disgusting he had opted to wash them off in the river in an attempt to get rid of the smell.

     A hundred years ago, he wouldn’t have cared, but seventy-one years, four months, fifteen days, sixteen hours, and twenty-three minutes with England was obviously beginning to rub off on the American. He heard Arthur’s adorable accent in his head chastising him for having smelly socks and he had automatically dunked them in the water, not even thinking about what would happen when the sun went down.

     Unfortunately that meant that his only pair of socks was still wet and hanging over a low tree branch in the hopes that they would be dry and smell-free by the morning. America’s toes felt like ice blocks.

     He could hear the steady sound of his brother’s light snores from his own tent a few feet away and once again, America thought about how he wished that he had brought a smaller tent. Canada had the right idea there too—a smaller tent meant more trapped heat. Alfred’s huge tent was cold and lonely. He could see the stars through the screen in the roof where normally there would be a rain cover; but Alfred’s had been gifted to his alien friend, Tony for a makeshift slip’n’slide last summer and America didn’t feel the need to buy a new one. He really hoped that it wasn’t going to rain—or snow—it was so freaking cold!

     Just as he was about to close his eyes and attempt to sleep again despite his growing discomfort from his imminent hypothermia, a noise that was not Canada’s snores broke through the relative silence and caused Alfred’s blue eyes to shoot open.

     A shuffling sound, like an animal moving through the brush could be heard directly to America’s side. He could hear breathing and he went stock still, his freezing cold hands clutching the sleeping bag tighter to his chest and his eyes slamming shut in fear. _‘What did Mattie say about bears?’_ America thought, trying to remain as still and quiet as he possibly could.

     Directly next to his tent, the fabric moved as something passed along the outside and a twig snapped loudly, causing the American’s eyes to fly open and a small whimper escape his mouth. _‘Don’t think about bears, don’t think about bears,’_ the young blonde kept repeating in his mind, although the mantra did little to ease his fear. Alfred could feel the tension mounting in his shoulders and as he looked up through the roof at the moon, he could see a shadow pass on the wall of his tent.

     He wanted to run. He knew that bears were fast and could climb trees and all that but he was in the midst of a fight or flight response and as much as it pained him to admit—the United States of America wanted to get the hell out of the forest and go home to England where there were no bears or shadows or hook men.

     For a brief moment, America remembered Canada. What would happen to his brother if he took off in the night? He would have to stay—he had to help protect Mattie from the wildlife. Cocking his head to listen, America registered that there was nothing but silence coming from outside the tent. He shifted slightly in his sleeping bag, pulling both of the hats he was wearing down tightly over his ears and pulled his knees up, curling into a ball.

     With the recent quiet in the woods, America had finally calmed down and was about to laugh off his absurd fear—bears, really?—when the shadow passed along near the door and he saw the large bear ears outlined on the wall of the tent.

     America couldn’t hold back his urge to flee any longer and he burst out of his tent taking off at an alarming speed. However, he was somewhat hindered by the ridiculous amount of clothing that he was wearing. To England and Prussia, it looked as though the young country was wearing every piece of clothing that he had brought camping. Layers upon layers encased the blonde, giving the appearance that he was slightly thicker than he actually was.

     England rolled his eyes under the hood, _‘Silly boy,’_ he thought. _‘It isn’t that bloody cold Alfred, you don’t need two hats!’_ Indeed, America had two knit caps jammed on his head, and under normal circumstances England would have been quite touched, since one cap was the print of an American flag and the other sported a Union Jack.

     Alfred took off running in circles around the campsite, his loud voice shouting “Bear! Bear! Bear!” The two elder nations were somewhat amused by the fact that America didn’t seem to be running _away_ from them and if they had actually been real bears, the superpower’s strategy of survival was really quite stupid.

     At the time, America had only seen the single shadow, so when he realized that there were two ‘bears’ chasing him around the tents, he changed his shouts. “Bear! Bear!” Widened blue eyes. “BEARS! BEARS! TWO BEARS!”

     The young American’s toe collided heavily with a rock that he was running past and he went down, clutching his exposed foot, looking around for more animal threats. _‘Where the hell is Mattie!’_ Alfred’s mind screamed. Out loud, he echoed his thought with, “Mattie! Bears, Mattie! Where are you!?!?”

     There was no response from Canada or his tent.

     America had a fleeting thought that perhaps the bears had already eaten his brother before he ran smack into one of the pursuing creatures and his arms began to swing out in an attempt at defense.

     “I’ve seen ‘Shark Week!’” America cried, his abnormally strong punches flying, albeit missing his targets. “I know how to fight off sharks—bears can’t be much different!”

     England rolled his eyes and chuckled, glancing at Prussia whose mouth was wide open—his laughter coming so hard that he wasn’t actually making a sound. Both nations had no trouble avoiding America’s blind swipes. With England and Prussia laughing so intensely that they were practically doubled over and America in a full blown panic, none of the three nations realized how close to the river they had moved. Suddenly, one of Alfred’s knit hats pulled down over his eyes as he flailed around the campsite and with his vision now gone, the poor American tipped straight into the small pool of the river!

     Both England and Prussia stopped suddenly at the edge of the water, England’s eyes wide in horror—he couldn’t swim—he couldn’t rescue Alfred!

     It wasn’t as bad as the Brit imagined though, when a moment later, America’s head popped up out of the water—the young nation still screaming as he clambered out of the water and stood, coming face to face with the two bear-clad nations.

     “Bear!” He screamed again, not even taking in that the ‘bears’ had human faces—America took off running, almost tripping over a log near the fire, his clothes leaving a steady stream of water. Due to the extra weight of the soaking layers of clothing, Alfred was moving a bit slower as he continued to run around screaming repeatedly about bears.

     Finally deciding that enough was enough after America’s tumble into the water, both Prussia and England followed the screaming wet nation slowly, reaching out toward him in an attempt to catch the poor boy in case he fell again. But America was in the midst of a complete panic and just darted around, nimbly escaping their grasps.

     “Damnit Alfred!” England cursed as he made a half-hearted swipe at his young lover. “Hold still you git!”

     Finally, the ruckus was enough to startle the Canadian, who popped out of his tent wearing nothing but a red flannel shirt saying, “What in the maple is going on!” Despite what Matthew would consider a shout, it was more of a normal volume for most people, and a whisper to America.

     All three nations stopped abruptly. The Canadian’s voice was obviously not the reason for the three men’s open mouths—it was the nearly naked Canadian standing before them, hands on hips, and a purple eyed glare staring each man down. All three of them found it unusual to be faced with Canadian Wrath. Plus, it was very distracting to see that Matthew had just thrown on a shirt haphazardly—apparently it wasn’t very cold for Canada since he had obviously been sleeping naked.

     It took only a moment for Canada to assess the situation and how ridiculous it all was. England and Prussia were frozen in their borrowed bear costumes, arms outstretched toward Alfred who was wearing what looked like his entire closet and soaking wet, breathing heavily.

     “Gilbert! Arthur!” despite the volume of his voice, there was no mistaking the underlying irritation. Canada was not happy. Both of the older nations dropped their hands and pulled the bear hoods off of their heads. England at least had the sense to look somewhat sheepish. Prussia just looked incredibly turned on, smiling wide at his cute, angry boyfriend.

     “Damn Birdie,” the white haired man let out a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding, staring at the long legs of his adorable boyfriend with undisguised lust.

     “Huh,” America turned and looked at the bear-clad nations in surprise. “What the hell Iggy!” he shouted, completely ignoring Prussia’s part in the entire escapade.

     England made a noise of indifference and crossed his arms over his chest, turning away from Alfred’s blue eyes. He hated it when those eyes were angry, and at the moment he was getting an ice cold stare from his lover who had recovered from his fright and was now just wet and looking very upset.

     “Look at you Birdie,” Prussia smirked, advancing on Canada who was still glaring. “You’re so sexy when you’re mad,” he licked his lips a bit.

     “Don’t Gil,” Matthew held one hand out, pressing it against the Prussian’s firm chest, effectively stopping the advancing albino. “You are in a _lot_ of trouble between bringing my polar bear costume into the woods and scaring the crap out of my brother and waking me up. I swear, if there is _one single smudge_ on that white fur you will have more to worry about than dissolution.”

     Prussia took a moment to recall his ordeal climbing out of France’s car, and although he knew his boyfriend was seriously pissed off and that there were _definitely_ going to be stains on the bear, that Canada wouldn’t do anything to him. Therefore, it was perfectly acceptable to ignore the threat to his awesome self and continue ogling his adorable lover.

     “Sorry Birdie,” Prussia kept smiling and didn’t look at all sorry at any of Matthew’s accusations. “I like this little shirt—I never knew flannel was so sexy” his eyes dropped down to the hem of the plaid garment that was grazing Canada’s hips.

     “Dude,” America burst out placing his hand over his eyes in embarrassment. “I can see a lot of what the Great White North has to offer!”

     Canada blushed and tugged the bottom of the shirt down, which didn’t cover up his assets in any way. “I am going to put on some pants. Alfred—change into something dry. And you two—“ purple eyes flashed at England and Prussia as their owner pointed toward the embers of the fire pit, “Sit. Down. And wait.” He turned on his heel and stalked back to his tent, giving all three quite the view as he bent over to crawl into his tent. America groaned and made a strangled noise in his throat. England blushed and looked up at the sky. Prussia grinned, whistled in appreciation, and called out, “Your ass is amazing Birdie!”

     “Shut up, _Prussia!_ ” came the response from inside the small zipped tent.

     America looked sadly down at his soaking clothes, a large puddle still forming around his bare feet. “I don’t have any dry clothes.”

     England rolled his eyes, and placed his arms around America’s wet shoulders, steering Alfred toward his giant tent saying, “Come on brat. Let’s get you fixed up.”

     Removing his clothes as he walked, America spent the short trip to his temporary home wringing out the soaking garments and simply dropping them in the dirt leaving a trail of wet shirts, pants and hats. By the time the two nations entered Alfred’s tent, he was down to only his boxers.

     Zipping the door closed behind them, England shook his head as America removed his last article of clothing, standing naked and shivering before his lover.  “Only you would sleep in every article of clothing you have, excepting shoes,” England attempted to break the silence that was hanging in the air.

     “I didn’t have time to put on shoes,” America slid a little glare at his lover. “I was busy ‘exiting pursued by bear,’” he grumbled.

     England’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared slightly. Abruptly he latched on to America’s shoulders and tackled the larger man to the ground, straddling his bare waist and kissing him hard. America was a little taken aback by England’s sudden passion, but he recovered quickly and hummed into the other’s mouth as he returned the kiss, gripping Arthur’s hips as he responded. No matter how upset he was at the recent chain of events, America would _never_ turn down kisses from England.

     The two nations pulled apart, panting, both of their arousals evident, pressing into each other. “What was that for?” Alfred asked breathlessly.

     “Well,” England started. “It wasn’t a direct quote, mind you—but—“ the elder nation felt the beginnings of a blush spread across his features. “Well—you know,” he stammered, “You know how I feel about William.”

     “You call Shakespeare _'William'_? Like you’re on a first name basis?” America raised his eyebrows, teasing his lover.

     “Belt up, git!” England spat, the implication of his age by knowing Shakespeare reminding England why he and Prussia were angry with their boyfriends in the first place. “I’m just saying,” he dipped his head, trying to control his temper and apologize at the same time. “I know how smart you are Alfred, it would be lovely if you allowed everyone else to see that part of you as well.” He smiled down at the blonde man underneath him. “It is also incredibly hot,” England lowered his head to press a kiss to America’s collarbone, “When you reference Shakespeare.”

     England’s kisses were slowly trailing lower down on America’s chest, and the younger nation began to squirm underneath his boyfriend. “I’m still mad that you scared me Iggy,” America gasped out.

     “But you aren’t _too_ mad, are you?” Arthur’s green eyes looked directly into America’s as he paused just above the boy’s navel. “Not upset enough to turn down my apology?” England nipped at the skin on America’s belly, licking his lips. The island nation allowed his hand to move lower, almost touching the younger blonde’s erection.

     “Nooooo,” America hissed. “You can apologize if you want Iggy,” he sucked in his breath and let his hands run through Arthur’s messy blonde hair as his sexy Brit pressed kisses against his chilled skin. He unconsciously felt his hands pushing Arthur’s head lower, hoping that his apology would start immediately. America could feel his lover’s hot breath on his tip and he shuddered. A single kiss was placed on the younger nation’s hipbone.

     Just as England’s hand closed over America’s length, the moment was broken by someone kicking the side of the tent and Canada’s voice growling at them, “Knock it off you two. Get out here…now.”

     There was no mistaking the seriousness of the Canadian’s tone.

     England reluctantly pulled away from America, leaving the poor boy panting and exposed, naked on the mess of sleeping bag beneath them. “Here,” he muttered unzipping the bear pyjamas that he was still wearing over his clothes. He pulled the costume off, revealing his usual sweater-vest and trouser combo, and held it out toward Alfred. “Its dry,” he smiled, hoping his boyfriend would accept the bear.

     After a moment of what looked like indecision, America broke out into a true grin and grabbed the bear costume, pulling it on over his naked body saying “Thanks babe.” He reached out and grabbed England’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’ll accept my apology later,” America smiled.

     “And I will expect mine as well,” England leaned in to press a kiss on America’s lips.

     “What?” America scrunched his nose and tilted his head in confusion, but he was given no verbal response. England simply tugged him forward and out of the tent. The two nations emerged, making an effort to hide their matching erections as they joined Prussia and Canada at the newly rekindled fire.

     Fingers still entwined, England and America sank as one onto a log and looked up at the pacing Canadian. Prussia was stretched out on the opposite log, looking as though he had nowhere else that he would rather be, even if they were about to receive a lecture from a rather irate nation. That gave England some hope, how mad could Canada really be if his own boyfriend wasn’t concerned.

     Canada was _plenty_ mad. In fact, he was downright _furious_. Unfortunately for him, his raging fury was other nations’ mild disappointment.

     “You two,” he began, raising his voice as much as he could. “What in the maple was _that_ all about?” England dipped his head a bit and then looked up to meet Matthew’s violet eyes saying, “We were bloody pissed off with you two wankers’ attitudes today.” Prussia nodded, still grinning at his boyfriend, but agreeing with England’s statement.

     Tilting their heads in unison, the North American brothers adopted an identical expression of scrunched up noses and quizzical eyes as they said together, “What attitude?”

     Both Prussia and England sighed, the former groaning and the latter rolling his eyes. “You,” Prussia pointed his finger, first at Alfred, and then at Matt. “Both of you,” he continued. “Going on and on about how we were too old to go camping.”

     “Seriously dude?” America looked surprised, and turned his face to England’s.

     “Yes Alfred,” England stared back at his boyfriend. “We were upset,” the island nation confirmed as Prussia continued to nod.

     “We don’t need to be reminded all the time that you’re younger than us,” Prussia continued. “We can figure that out on our own—especially with some of the things the other nations say.”

     “Right,” England gave a curt nod of his own. “Sometimes I don’t think you realize how hurtful your teasing can be Alfred.”

     Much to the older nations’ surprise, both America and Canada looked somewhat guilty. Canada more so.

     “Wow, Iggy,” America turned to face his boyfriend, taking both of England’s hands in his own. “I had no idea. I’m really, _really_ sorry,” his blue eyes showing Arthur that his boyfriend, was, for once, being serious and actually remorseful. “I can’t promise that I won’t tease you anymore,” Alfred stated plainly, “But I can sure try.”

     England smiled softly and squeezed America’s hand, “You wouldn’t be you if you stopped teasing me altogether. Besides,” England smirked, “I’m not about to stop badgering you—wouldn’t be fair if only one of us had to change. Just…back off on occasion…with certain topics.”  America nodded, surprisingly silent, but still giving Arthur a small grin.

     Canada nodded mutely toward Prussia, in agreement with his brother. “I’m really sorry Gil,” he whispered, letting the albino man slide his arms around his waist, pulling him close.

     “Don’t worry about it Birdie,” he whispered back, nuzzling the Canadian’s neck. “I’m sure you can make it up to me somehow.” Prussia placed a kiss on Matthew’s head, to which the Canadian leaned in towards.

     Across the fire, England placed his hands on either side of America’s face, and placed a light kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek. With both nations slightly concealed by the bear hood that America had pulled over his wet hair, England whispered, “I love you America.” He received a whispered, “I know,” in response.

     Prussia smiled and clapped his hands together, saying, “Well, that’s all cleared up—got any s’mores Al?”

     He was not granted a response, due to the fact that the American was busy placing light kisses down his lover’s neck as the two clung to each other—showing their mutual apologies the best way they knew how.

     Canada smiled at his brother and England and pulled on Prussia’s hand forcing the white haired man to stand next to him. Sliding his arms around Prussia’s neck, Matthew nuzzled his face against the older man’s warm skin and said, “Come to bed with me—I have a way you can apologize for ruining my polar bear.”

     Prussia’s red eyes widened in anticipation and he smirked at his younger lover. He _loved_ apologizing. The two nations made their way to Canada’s small tent where Gilbert knew there would be just enough room for two.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: 'Exiting pursued by Bear.'—Reference to a hilarious stage direction in Shakespeare's "Winter's Tale"
> 
> Of course America knows down to the minute when he and England got together :)
> 
> Awe, Alfred, I'm so sorry I kept taking Iggy away from you..."Damn, Mattie, total block dude, uncool!"
> 
> ...don't worry though kids, they'll get their fun in the epilogue.
> 
> So this is technically the end of "An UnBEARable Slight." I do have an epilogue, but you don't need to read it to finish the story (although I hope you do)-THEREFORE: If you're not into Yaoi then you don't have to read the epilogue, it doesn't change anything about the core of the story, its just make-up smut...If you are down with the boys love, then it will be posted soon-I pinkie swear-And Arthur and Alfred "elephant swear" ;)


	6. I Love You, Brat

     The soft glow of the fire had shadows dancing across both nations’ faces, flashing in America’s glasses and giving a spark to England’s green eyes. Neither man really noticed when Canada and Prussia had disappeared into their own small tent—they were too busy feathering light kisses over each other’s features. England let out a soft sigh as America’s lips ran over his eyelids.

     “Oh Alfred,” England whispered. “I do love you,” Arthur pulled back slightly and gazed into America’s bright blue eyes.

     Alfred’s smirk was less obnoxious than usual as he leaned forward and touched his forehead to his boyfriend’s, saying, “Well, that’s good Iggy.” He kissed the tip of England’s nose, never breaking the contact of their skin. “Cause I love you more than you’ll ever know, old man.”

     England’s green eyes flashed, as he pulled away. “What did we _just_ talk about? Really America,” he switched to his lover’s formal name, “It hasn’t even been half an hour and you’re already—“

     The blonde Brit was cut off with a hard kiss from the American who smiled when he pulled away, “I can’t help it Arthur—you’re just so hot when you’re mad at me.” America winked cheekily and slid his cold hands under England’s clothes, lightly stroking the older man’s hard stomach muscles. England sputtered, pretending he was still angry, but he wasn’t. He was never truly angry with America.

     Placing his hands at Alfred’s waist, he pulled his young lover toward him, causing the American to scoot along the log until he was practically in England’s lap. Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss as Alfred wrapped his long legs around Arthur and leaned into him. Small sounds of pleasure escaped both of their throats as the kiss deepened.

     “Your hands are freezing love,” England chastised as he pulled the bear hood off of America’s wet hair and ran his hands through the blonde’s soaked locks.

     “That’s cause I’m all wet,” America winked.

     “Really?” England raised one large eyebrow before darting down to lightly suck on the American’s neck. Pulling down the zipper of the bear pajamas ever so slowly, England began to expose America’s heavily muscled chest. He could feel the younger man’s raised skin as a testament to his chilled temperature. Lips never leaving the young blonde’s throat, England slipped his hand inside his boyfriend’s bear costume and ran his fingers lower until they were almost touching Alfred’s incredible hardness.

     Running a single finger over America’s tip, he smiled as Alfred sucked in his breath at the contact. Looking directly into his lover’s eyes, Arthur smirked and lowered his eyelids, saying “My, my, America, you certainly _are_ wet.” He felt America shiver into him as he continued to toy with the boy’s cock. Pulling the younger country closer, Arthur ran his tongue along Alfred’s earlobe and whispered, “I guess I’ll have to do something to warm you up.”

     America’s breath hissed and he let out a small “Yes…yes please.”

     England smiled. The sound of his boyfriend actually saying ‘please’ for something caused Arthur’s own cock to rocket into full hardness. Manners were such a turn on. Patting America’s side lightly he growled, “Turn around love.”

     Alfred’s eyes widened and he slid off of the log, turning away from the island nation, who ran his hands down America’s back lightly as he bent him over the rough wood they had been sitting upon. Arthur smiled as he placed a soft smack across his boyfriend’s ass before unzipping the back opening of the costume—there was a reason that the two of them had picked _this_ particular bear pajama for the American—easy access.

     Unzipping his own trousers, Arthur allowed his length to spring free and continued running his free hand along Alfred’s now exposed behind. _‘God, the boy had a beautiful arse’_ England couldn’t help but admire the firmness of his lover’s backside. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a small, well-used tube of lubrication and popped the top; the noise causing Alfred to turn around and meet his eyes.

     “Jeez Iggy,” America smirked at him, “You brought lube with you to ‘teach me a lesson’?”

     England felt a blush spread like wildfire across his pale face and he made a noise of protest as he stuttered, “Well, I…I just thought…preparation…all that…you know…”

     Alfred laughed, and reached behind him to grab his boyfriend’s hand. “I’m just teasing you babe,” he smiled sweetly. “Come on—warm me up,” the blue eyes sparkled at Arthur’s expression.

     The Englishman’s green eyes darkened with lust and he kept eye contact with his beautiful America as he coated his fingers liberally with the lube before tossing the tube over his shoulder, not caring where it landed. Leaning forward to press a kiss on America’s shoulder, Arthur placed his fingers at Alfred’s entrance and began to rub circles around the tight ring. America’s breath hitched and his cheeks puffed in anticipation as England slowly began to press one finger inside his lover. Once he had reached up to his first knuckle, America let out the breath he had been holding and moaned deeply causing England to move his finger more freely.

     “I’m going to put in the next love,” Arthur warned before easing a second finger in. He could feel Alfred tensing around him at the intrusion so he allowed the younger man a moment to accommodate before he began to thrust both fingers in and out. The two nations like to switch their roles on occasion, but lately, Alfred had been bottoming, so the process didn’t take very long. Arthur had a third finger in and was stroking America’s prostate within minutes.

     He almost didn’t want to remove his hand—he didn’t want those lovely sounds that Alfred was making to stop, but his own erection was growing steadily more painful and he _needed_ to be inside his boyfriend immediately. With no warning, England removed his fingers and was already pressing his tip into America’s tight hole before the young nation could even react.

     The intense pressure of England’s hard prick entering America caused the young blonde to cry out and buck his hips back into the island nation, sheathing the Brit totally within his heated body. Both men cried out at the sensation.

     “Oh Alfred, you’re so wonderful,” England groaned.

     “England…England…oh, fuck, England,” America could only really say his boyfriend’s name. He did earn a smack across the ass at his curse—Alfred always found it amusing that his lover would swear up a storm, but would get offended whenever one slipped past America’s lips. _‘I believe I taught you better than that lad,_ ’ the Brit would always say as he scolded his lover—but he would smile as he did. The spanking didn’t teach America to not swear, it just turned him on even more—if such a thing was possible—and he started to roll his hips, trying to pull England deeper within him.

     Arthur hadn’t moved since he had entered his lover, he was just so incredibly needy for Alfred that he was afraid if he moved, that it would be over before it began. However, when America’s hips moved back against him, England couldn’t resist. His hands gripped America’s hips and held the young country in place while Arthur ground into him with a loud cry.

     England’s thrusts began slowly and tenderly; however they rapidly gained urgency once he found America’s sweet spot, repeatedly banging his prick into Alfred’s prostate with practiced precision. The whimpers and cries coming from America only spurred the former pirate on more as he thrust hard and deep. Alfred reached his hand up and slid it into his bear costume, gripping his own length and tugging furiously, matching his boyfriend’s pace.

     “America—“ England cried out, “I’m—I’m—Oh, America!” The smaller nation couldn’t articulate his need for release, but he didn’t need to—they had been together so long, Alfred knew.

     “Oh man,” America panted, stroking his cock faster and more roughly as his lover pounded into him. “England! Arthur! Please—yes!”

     “Yes!” Arthur cried, their affirmatives combining into a loud, mutual shout as first America spilled into his own hand, followed by England releasing deep within his beloved Alfred. The two nations collapsed in a heap, their limbs entwined and their breaths coming in short, heavy gasps.

     “I love you Iggy,” America smiled at the love of his life. They had been through so much together and for the most part, had always been at each other’s side. Alfred knew that if he got his way, they would be there for each other until the end of time—and America _always_ got his way.

     “I love you too brat,” England’s mouth turned up at the corner and he leaned toward Alfred, to kiss him sweetly on the lips.

     America reached for England and gripped his hand tightly—their fingers melding together as they lay on the forest floor, gazing into each other’s eyes as the fire beside them slowly turned to embers.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: THANK YOU ALL FOR READING! A huge shout out to everyone who sent some love! You're all awesome and Iggy and I wish we could make tea for you to say thanks (don't worry, France and America will supervise since I'm almost as abysmal a cook as England-just tea, what could go wrong?)
> 
> This was only my second "really" smutty fic so I hope it wasn't too cheesy and awful...but if it was, I'll try harder next time. Let me know what can improve :)
> 
> As of now, I'm calling this story finished-HOWEVER-I am still tossing around a Second Epilogue in my head that would close up the PruCan portion with their own "This Is A Really Tiny Tent But We Can Totally Make It Awesome" Sex ending. I don't know yet. If anyone really wants some PruCan loving to end this as well then I guess let me know :)
> 
> Again-Thank you SO much!


	7. Epilogue: Part Deux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This is for "An UnBEARable Slight: Epilogue Part Deux" to wrap up the other couple with some Tiny Tent Prucan (as requested by some people). I made the UKUS ending more serious and emotional (since it was more of a USUK/UKUS story from the beginning but ended up being about both couples) whatever—Part Deux is different. It is a bit longer than the UKUS epilogue but not as dirty. I wanted PruCan to be a little weird and awkward, especially with the tiny tent. And I love these two raging dorks when they're all ridiculous…So this epilogue is a little more humorous and full of mishaps and it isn't very graphic, unlike UKUS (Sorry dudes—plus you gotta admit that Canada deserves it just a bit for interrupting Alfred and Arthur earlier (I love you Mattie, I do). I really wanted to explore these two as an awkward couple a little more.
> 
> Some light yaoi, kissing, occasional mentions of anatomy and grinding, mentions of blood, Prussia has a knife (no cutting of skin or knife play--he just needs it to...well, you'll see). I hope I didn't mess them up too much. So, without further ado: Tiny Tent Prucan!

**Epilogue: Part Deux**

     Prussia sat cross-legged on the mass of sleeping bag crumpled on the floor of Canada's two-person tent. He had thought that there would be plenty of room for the both of them—it _was_ built for two after all. However, the white-haired man had neglected to take into account the height and build of both himself and his blonde lover. Both men were extremely fit—broad shouldered and muscular—and quite tall. At least, that's what Prussia always told himself. He refused to admit that he was _just_ a hair shorter than Canada, and Matthew indulged his insistence that they were of equal height—despite the untruthfulness of the statement.

     The interior of the tent _was_ enough room for two, but just barely. Gil kept shifting uncomfortably as Mattie clambered inside, unconsciously sticking his rear end directly in the Prussian's face as he zipped up the tent's door. Gil cocked one silver eyebrow and bit his lower lip. This was _way_ too much temptation. Just as soon as Gilbert had decided to take advantage of his lover's position, Mattie spun around causing Gil to topple forward, his arms swooping out and grabbing nothing. The cross-legged position didn't allow for great balance and since Prussia wasn't the 'bendy' type, he simply face-planted on the floor of the tent, the hood of the polar bear costume falling over his face. Canada's violet eyes popped open in concern as he tried to help his lover sit up, but since he was bent at over a ninety-degree angle himself, his efforts were more hindrance then help.

     "Verdammt Birdie," Gil muttered trying to right himself. "Why did you spring out of the way like that?"

     "I didn't 'spring' anywhere," Canada insisted. "I can't really 'spring' in such a small space—and I wasn't expecting to be attacked from behind."

     "Well, that's silly Birdie," Prussia scoffed, now sitting upright once more and shaking his head roughly. "You should always be prepared to be grabbed from behind when I'm around," he winked saucily and grinned. "Especially when you insist on having the cutest ass I've ever seen."

     Canada immediately blushed. He and Prussia had been together for years, but despite being raised by the country, Canada wasn't France—and sometimes his boyfriend's openly lustful remarks made the world's second biggest county a little embarrassed. Canada and America were cut from the same cloth and had some issues with being comfortable with intimacy—not that Canada thought that was bad, but at least he was a bit more open than Alfred from his years with Francis. One couldn't expect to be raised by the Country of Love without being exposed to some relatively graphic depictions of 'l'amour', as his former guardian would say. Still, he never quite knew how to accept Prussia's compliments on his physical appearance so he responded in the way that he always did—blushing and muttering under his breath "You're ridiculous Gil."

     Prussia leaned in and wrapped his arms around Canada's neck, nuzzling the younger country's cheek and whispering, "Not ridiculous when it's the truth mein Schatz." The furry hood over Gilbert's white hair rubbed against Matthew's ear causing the younger country to twitch and emit an awkward sort of giggle. Gilbert tugged insistently on Canada's shoulders until Matthew had no choice but to sink to the ground and assume his own cross-legged position, facing his boyfriend. The top of Canada's blonde head, (and Prussia's fuzzy white bear ears) brushed the roof of the tent and both countries noticed that the air in the enclosed space was already quite heated.

     Leaning in to capture Canada's warm lips, Prussia placed his hands on Matthew's thighs and murmured, "Now, I believe that we both have some apologizing to do—yes?" The Prussian ran his tongue along Canada's lips, insistently pressing for entrance.

     "Oh yes," Canada moaned a bit, opening his mouth. "I'm so sorry for making you feel elderly."

     "What?" Prussia pulled back. "Really? You have to use the word 'elderly?' Mein Gott Birdie, that's kind of a mood killer."

     "Sorry!" Canada yelped a bit. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking—"

     Prussia pressed his cold hand to Matthew's protesting mouth. "Calm down, kid," Prussia threw in the last word as a small dig. "The Awesome Me, is tougher than I look—and you apologize too much."

     Canada blinked for a few moments until the silence was broken by a very pleased sounding moan from outside the tent and the sound of England's name. "Oh—sorry!" Canada said before he could stop himself. "So sorry about my brother! Oh god…ew…" Matthew slapped his hand over his mouth to keep from apologizing again.

     Gilbert laughed, his head thrown back. "Nein Mattie," he chuckled. "It's perfectly fine. Although I must admit I'm a bit jealous."

     "Of my brother?" Canada scrunched up his nose.

     "Nein—of England," Prussia wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "At least Arthur is getting to apologize in a fun way."

     "Oh," Canada trailed off a bit. The images of walking in on his brother and England years before were starting to surface since the two countries were definitely _not_ attempting to keep their lustful moans down. _'Why couldn't they go in their own tent and be courteous like we did?'_ Canada thought. He knew why—America was nowhere near as polite as he was, and he also knew that if given the chance, Prussia would have wanted to stay out and fuck by the fire as well. Swallowing hard, Matthew lifted his bright purple eyes to Gilbert's red and smiled a bit coyly. "Well, if you want to apologize, then go right ahead."

     Prussia's eyes lit up and he blurted out quickly, "Sorry I ruined your bear!"

     Canada looked over his lover who was still clad in his beloved polar bear lounge pajamas and sighed as he noticed all of the dark slashes of mud embedded in the beautiful white fur. "Jeez Gil, what did you do? Roll around in the mud?"

     "Of course not," Prussia scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "That would be incredibly stupid—no way would the Awesomeness do something so…so…um…" Gilbert let out a bit of sigh. "Actually ja," he shrugged a bit, "that is basically—exactly what I did."

     Mouth hanging open, Canada managed a noise that sounded like "What?"

     "Not on purpose!" Gilbert waved both hands wildly, the bear ears on his hood vibrating. "It was an accident! I fell out of Francis' tiny little car and I—"

     " _Francis'_ car?" Canada choked out. " _France's_ car! You got France to help you with this?"

     Sheepishly, Gilbert dipped his head a bit and smiled, "It was mostly his idea Birdie."

     Canada fumed a moment thinking, _'I bet France was getting me back for accidentally spilling my Timmies on his new silk scarf—that complete…meanie!'_

     "Matthew," Prussia had resorted to Canada's human name after a few 'Birdie's' failed to catch the blonde's attention.

     "Huh?" Canada cocked his head, looking confused.

     "We were in the middle of something," Prussia smirked. "Something much more pleasant than discussing my bestie's role in tonight's activites."

     Canada hummed and smiled, "Yes we were."

     Both nations leaned in toward one another to meet in a kiss, but the slippery material of the sleeping bag beneath them caused Gilbert to shift forward quite suddenly, banging his forehead directly into Matthew's nose.

     "Oh maple!" Canada's voice was bit louder than normal as he clamped his hand over his throbbing nose. "Maple _Leaves_!" Matthew cried pulling out his 'most offensive' curse.

     "Mein Gott!" the Prussian pulled back rubbing his face at the site of impact. His own pain was immediately forgotten when he tilted his red eyes to look up at his boyfriend's face. A line of blood was slowly trickling out between Canada's fingers—obviously originating at the poor country's nasal injury.

     If it was possible for an albino to go pale, then Gilbert managed.

     "What?" Matthew asked, his voice sounding muffled, as though he had a cold.

     "You're bleeding!" Gilbert cried. "You're freaking bleeding—mien Gott Birdie, I'm so sorry!" Reaching out his hand toward Matthew's injured face, all he managed to do was bump his fingers into Canada's nose causing the younger country to twitch uncomfortably and the stream of blood to become a bit steadier.

     "Ah!" Gilbert exclaimed, "That didn't help—I'm not helping!" The albino snatched his hands away from his lover's face, his own features twisting in a grimace. "I'm so sorry Birdie!"

     There was a small twinge of pain, but it wasn't too bad—however, Prussia rarely apologized for anything and the look of panic on Gilbert's face worried Matthew a little. Maybe it was worse than he had thought. It seemed as though it was just a bump. Pulling his hands away from his nose he noticed the streaks of red. So he was bleeding a little—this wasn't too terrible. Nowhere near as bad as the time he and Russia decided that it would be fun to play a game of pick-up hockey after a World Meeting—both countries ended up in the ER with broken bones and spent the entire wait laughing and insisting that the other had lost shamefully.

     "Gil," Canada reached behind him to grab a spare shirt to wipe his hands. "I'm fine. This is nothing."

     "Nein," Prussia waved his arms around as wildly as he could in such a confined space. "Nein, nein, nein. You are hurt. We should get to a hospital—can you walk?"

     Canada cocked an eyebrow and gave Prussia his best "Patented Arthur Kirkland" look. "Yes, I can walk. My nose is not my foot." He reached out to place his hands on Gilbert's face. "We don't need to go to a hospital—I'm fine, really. I didn't even lose a tooth." Canada chuckled and spread his mouth into a huge smile to demonstrate his abundance of teeth.

     Prussia slumped a bit and let out a small sigh. "I know," he muttered. "I know you're tough and this is nothing but I…I worry about you mein Schatz."

     Matthew blushed deeply, "That's really sweet of you, Gil." The young blonde's voice came out hardly louder than a whisper.

     "I know," Prussia boasted. "The Awesomeness is always sweet to you."

     Canada let out a breath of a laugh and smiled at his adorable boyfriend. "Just let me get cleaned up." He turned to rummage through his backpack and pulled out a small white box bearing a large red "X."

     "You brought your own first aid kit?" Prussia inquired.

     Matthew snorted, which hurt a bit, as he opened packets of alcohol swabs and dabbed them around his nose. "Of course I did," he stated. "I was going into the woods for three days with Alfred—he was bound to get hurt somehow. Splinter, twisted ankle, minor burn from throwing things into the fire that he shouldn't."

     "Yeah, that's true," Gilbert nodded his agreement. He loved his boyfriend's brother but Alfred was kind of a spaz sometimes—even Prussia could admit to that fact.

     Turning back around, his face now free of any trace of injury, Canada smiled and brushed his blonde hair off of his face. "Now, to pick up where we left off?" Matthew's voice held a note of seduction as he began to slowly unbutton his plaid shirt.

     Licking his lips, Prussia pulled off the bear pajamas in one quick motion, careful to avoid hitting Mattie's nose as he swung his arms and legs about shimmying out of the costume. He did manage to knock himself on the forehead again, but his awesomeness could handle it—neither man wanted any more delays in their make-up sex. The Prussian was naked in seconds.

     "Hurry up Birdie," Gil growled. "I want to see that perfect ass of yours."

     Matthew blushed again at the compliment to his anatomy and reached to tug his zipper down. The silver tab made it almost halfway down the fly before abruptly stopping.  Canada tugged harder on the zipper, which refused to budge. Yanking with all his strength now, the young blonde looked up at his older lover with a panicked look on his face.

     "It's stuck!" Canada cried out in despair.

     "What?" Prussia's red eyes narrowed. There was literally no way that this could get any worse. "Just pull them off," he reached over, placing his hands on Matthew's hips and yanking on the blonde's jeans. His thumbs brushed against Mattie's sides, rubbing the hot skin lightly as the Prussian tugged at his lover's belt loops.

     "Yeah, that's not helping," Canada mumbled, his blush deepening considerably. "Gil, don't…you're…it's…they're not coming off."

     "What's wrong?" Prussia tugged on Canada's pants once more.

     Hissing in his breath, Canada let a slight moan escape his lips causing Prussia's head to snap up and look into Matthew's eyes. "You're touching my sides and you're super close and…" the blonde trailed off looking incredibly embarrassed.

     "What?" Prussia questioned.

     "I got really hard," Matthew hung his head. "There's no way that they're going to slide off now." Canada sounded truly dejected.

     For a moment, Prussia just stared at his adorable lover, taking in his red cheeks, his messy blonde locks, those perfect violet eyes. Smirking, Gilbert reached over and plunged his hand into one of the boots that he had just removed and pulled out a slim piece of metal. Holding it up in between their faces, he pressed a button, revealing a spring loaded blade that popped to life and caused Canada to jump. "Well, then Mattie," Gilbert's voice dropped into a low purr. "I guess I'll just have to cut you out of them."

     Eyes wide and heart hammering, Canada lay down on the floor of the tent and watched as Prussia carefully slid the blade into his waistband. The metal felt cool against his skin, and although he knew that any blade that belonged to Gilbert would be razor sharp, he wasn't worried—he had complete trust in his lover.

     Maintaining eye contact, Prussia thrust the knife up toward him, effectively ripping Canada's pants clean off of his hips and causing the young country's impressive erection to spring into view. Grinning, Prussia slid one hand up to grasp Canada's hard cock, and kept the other on the handle of the knife. Placing the blade between his teeth, he used maneuvered the blade back within its sheath. Tossing the weapon carelessly behind him, Prussia allowed Matthew some movement to wiggle his hips out from the ruined pants, his hand never leaving the Canadian as he began soft strokes down his lover's length.

     Once Matthew was free from the confines of his ripped clothes, Gilbert placed one hand on the ground next the Mattie's ear and began to sink down towards his boyfriend's open and eager mouth. Just as their lips touched Canada shifted and his knee managed to lightly nudge Prussia's most awesome body part. The clip was enough to cause the albino to grunt in pain and slump forward onto Canada's chest as he hissed in a breath.

     "I didn't mean it!" Canada yelped. "Maple! Maple! Son of a…maple!" Canada tried to push himself up on his elbows, but Prussia shook his head while gritting his teeth and blinking back some very un-awesome tears.

     "Its fine, Birdie," Prussia grunted. "Just—let's keep going or this will never happen."

     Canada bit his lip, "Are you sure?"

     The immediate response he received was another loud cry from outside the tent. Apparently his brother was _really_ enjoying whatever it was that England was doing to him. Canada didn't know which was worse—listening to his brother and Arthur having sex all night, or not being able to have sex of his own.

     "Ja," Prussia huffed. "I'm sure. Just—don't move your knees. Maybe don't move at all for a while, there isn't a lot of room in here."

     "Okay," Canada nodded as he lowered himself back down, carefully spreading his legs so that Gilbert could slide in between them.

     Blowing out a huge breath, Prussia shook his head and then met Canada's eyes. "Now, mien Schatz," he whispered, "Allow me to apologize."

     Gripping Matthew in his hands, Gilbert began his smooth strokes once again, as both men crashed their mouths together in a full kiss. Their tongues pressed against one another and Canada wiggled his hips against his lover's own growing erection. Both men were in an admitted amount of pain and none of this evening was working out according to plan, however Prussia would be damned if he came all the way out to the freaking forest without getting a piece of his beautiful Canada.

     Their kisses gradually became needier, and soon their own light moans began to mingle with the sound of their companions out by the fire. Unfortunately for Matthew, it seemed as though Alfred was just getting more vocal as the night went on. He was having a hard time focusing on all the wonderful feelings that Gilbert was giving him when he could hear his brother moaning ten feet away.

     Gilbert thrust his hips against Matthew's rather roughly, just as America seemed to let out a particularly loud cry. Pushing back against his lover, Matthew broke their own passionate kiss and looked into Gilbert's red eyes.

     "Oh maple," Canada moaned. "I can't concentrate with them making so much noise—they're freaking me out."

     "You want me to go out there and tell them to pipe down?" Gilbert cocked his head quizzically.

     "No!" Canada's voice squeaked a few octaves higher than normal. "If you do that then they'll know we can hear them!"

     "I think they already know that we can hear them," Prussia chuckled. "America sounds like he's giving a performance—kind of like that movie we rented a few weeks ago."

     "Don't talk about it," Matthew blushed deeply. "I still can't believe you rented that—and _I_ was the one who had to go return it. I'll never be able to visit that store again."

     "Birdie," Prussia laughed. "It was a porn store—I'm sure they weren't judging you on renting a dirty movie."

     " _I_ didn't rent it," Canada poked his boyfriend hard in the chest. " _You_ rented it and then refused to take it back."

     "It was good," Prussia shrugged. "Plus, that one pilot looked a bit like you, I thought we could get a lot more use out of it."

     "You can't just _keep_ things when they don't belong to you," Canada moaned, burying his head in Gilbert's warm chest.

     "I kept you," stated the Prussian.

     The Canadian stilled and there was a moment where nothing could be heard except their shallow breathing and the steady thump of two heartbeats. Matthew lifted his head and gazed deep into Gilbert's intoxicating red eyes. "Yes you did." Canada's smile broke across his face making Prussia join with a matching grin.

     Simultaneously, both men leaned in, their mouths meeting in the first perfect and injury free kiss of the evening. As Prussia wrapped his arms around his beloved Canada, grinding his hips against Matthew's, he realized that his first impression of their tent was correct—it truly _was_ the perfect size for two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:
> 
> Timmies: Tim Horton's coffee
> 
> Mein Schatz: "My Darling"
> 
> Sooooo sorry boys! I didn't intend to torture you that much when this began. I like the idea of Prussia getting all protective and worried over hurt Canada without realizing that he probably gets worse injuries every day doing his outdoorsy stuff or playing hockey or whatnot. And I actually really like the idea of Canada and Russia playing hockey together and beating the living crap out of one another and just finding it amusing. I think those two would be total bros. Sorry that there wasn't much smut-I got kind of carried away with making their night as awful as possible. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I like to think of England and Prussia being buddies. They would kind of have to be if they were both dating the North American bros. They probably spend a lot of holidays together. Which is why I have the headcanon that both of them are well aware of the others "hot buttons" or "touchy subjects" if you will and know how to diffuse the others melancholy or ranting quite well.
> 
> I also ship USUK/UKUS so hard it might break my heart--HOWEVER--I do NOT automatically dismiss FrUk at all. I don't like to think of France as a douchey ex--more along the lines of "maybe we hooked up/dated back in the day, who knows how serious it was and we've known each other for centuries" and that the two of them are more like frenemies who may have occasionally boned and that France likes to annoy the crap out of England for fun. I really think that they two of them honestly care about each other very deeply, I just don't see it as romantic any longer. Although, I have read some damn good FrUk fics--I will admit that.


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